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SELECT CALENDAR OF BRITISH INSECTS.
Pristonychus Terricola. Haunts, Cellars and caverns. To 9.
Pristonychus Terricola. I have in this instance deviated from the plan of naming the insects in the above lists from Mr. Stephens's Catalogue, where its generic name is Sphodrus, and adopted that given in his “ Nomenclature of British Insects," as established by De Jean. It is distinguished from Sphodrus leucophthalmus by its smaller size and the absence of wings.
Hydrophilus caraboides. This species, which is so common in the south of England, (particularly near London,) is rarely met with in the north. In Nottinghamshire I have never heard of its being taken: the Nottingham district, including Sherwood Forest, is however very productive, although some species are extremely local. The first British specimens of Saperda ferrea were taken by myself in the county.
Berosus luridus. The insects of this beautiful genus are frequently confounded. I would, therefore, advise the young entomologist to examine them with care: they delight in pools having a clayey bottom, and haunt the roots and stems of aquatic plants near the margin.
Silpha opaca. This rare species is sometimes taken in the vicinity of Nottingham, in this and the two following months.
Coccinella septem-punctata, or Lady-bird, is associated with the remembrance of almost every country ramble, and is welcomed with rapture by every child who has heard the nursery air of
Lady-bird ! lady-bird ! fly away home:
Thy house is on fire, thy children will burn ! etc. It is an insect that deserves the protection of every gardener and lover of plants, its food being the various species of aphides, those destroyers and disfigurers of our hothouses and gardens. The whole genus is subject to great variation ; so much so, that it is impossible to determine the species without carefully collecting couples.
Tenebrio Molitor. The larvæ (commonly called meal-worms) of this domestic beetle form the favourite food of the nightingale when in confinement.
LAYS OF THE SEASONS.
BY MARY HOWITT.
She is the mother of the flowers;
Our star of hope through wintry hours.'
The merry children when they see
Her coming, by the budding thorn,
And run to meet her night and morn.
They are soonest with her in the woods,
Peeping, the withered leaves among, To find the earliest, fragrant thing That dares from the cold earth to spring,
Or catch the earliest wild-bird's song.
The little brooks run on in light,
As if they had a chase of mirth ; The skies are blue, the air is warm, Our very hearts have caught the charm
That sheds a beauty over earth.
The aged man is in the field;
The maiden 'mong her garden flowers;
Of wants that fret and care that lowers.
She comes with more than present good
With joys to store for future years, From which in striving crowds apart, The bowed in spirit, bruised in heart,
May glean up hope with grateful tears.
Up!-let us to the fields away,
And breathe the fresh and balmy air :
And health, and love, and peace are there!